


Disruption

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Eye Trauma, M/M, Mental Instability, One flicker in a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Saizo botches a rare attempt to indulge in a hobby and a rare attempt to calm down. Luckily, Ryoma can adapt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Aurumite for previewing this.

Saizo has been resting his knife against the fish’s skin for longer than he hesitates to cut a human. The scales he meticulously scraped off are piled at his knee, the blade is positioned to slice against the bone, and he—he knows how to do this. He even takes a breath as Kagero always insists before he begins to saw gently into the flesh.

A shriek breaks his focus, causing his hand to jerk along with his neck. A crow circles overhead, no doubt drawn by the promise of meat. He curses and throws a stone that sends the bird crashing into the river.

The filet he’d been portioning is ruined, his blade caught in a diagonal cut. This is why he has long avoided preparing Ma’s meals as opposed to disgusting-yet-practical rice dumplings. But the stream was perfect for fishing, and he thought he’d catch something for Ryoma.

The offering’s wasted now. It was only that morning he scolded a recruit for discarding food, as if he himself hadn’t picked the carrots out of Ma’s dinners. That crow could have been used for something, too, if the river hadn’t carried it away. With a growl he hacks carelessly at the rest, covering the stump with guts and bones and scraps as ragged as his scarf.

His grip on the knife tightens as a shadow falls over him. His face heats; he’d never mistake the shape. Still kneeling, he rotates, closing his eyes so that his bowed head will not look upon Ryoma’s boots.

“My lord,” he starts, unsure whether to apologize or avoid speaking of the mess. Rustling fabric tells him that Ryoma has settled on his left side. When Saizo dares peek, he sees Ryoma’s hands fall on his knees. He is not looking at Saizo or the evidence of his error.

“I thought this would be a good place to meditate.” Likely story. Out here, with his eyes closed, Ryoma is a sitting duck.

“Understood. I will guard you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was hoping we could do this together.”

 _Hell_. Were it Kagero, he could have refused.

“As you wish.”

Discontent mars Ryoma’s face, but the wrinkles soon smooth as he begins his breathing. It’s more audible than usual, no doubt meant to give Saizo a rhythm to follow. With reservation Saizo imitates his position. As a child his wiggling was beaten out of him, a strike for each part that moved—and of course, he sits still for days for stakeouts. But at least on the job he keeps constant watch. There is much he only remembers with his eyes closed.

He tries to focus on chirping bugs, running water, and such nonsense. All he hears is his heartbeat. The last time he tried this, Kagero declared him a lost cause (she didn’t say it like that, but he’d rather not remember the look on her face).

Trees rustle along the bank. There’s no breeze; someone must be shaking the branches. Perhaps it’s only a squirrel, but is a ninja under Ryoma’s command watching them? Or…

(The wind blew in Mokushu that night that he hid in its forest, barely balancing atop a branch for all his quaking, a hand clutching his eye as if he could push it back into its socket. They could have followed him. They could have tracked the trail of blood and surrounded him, finished off the job…)

A light pressure on Saizo’s shoulder makes him reach for his knife. He drops it when he sees Ryoma’s concerned face (that was it, that was her look) and his hand hovering beside Saizo’s bicep. Sweat has drenched Saizo’s scarf. He ducks further into it, ashamed Ryoma has seen him fail twice.

“This doesn’t…work for you,” Ryoma says. “I’d forgotten. Forgive me.”

“No, the fault is mine. I—”

“It’s no matter. If a tool’s not effective, we’ll simply try another one.” He stands, creating a shadow that cools Saizo’s brow. “Do you have time to walk with me?”

Time is not the issue. Guarding his liege is his most important duty, but Ryoma’s tone suggests something else. “When you say with…”

Ryoma’s mouth twitches. “I promise we shall keep a discreet path.”

They start along the river, quickly diverging to the cover of the trees. Ryoma keeps to Saizo’s right side as if to guard his blind spot from attack, a consideration that burns him and makes it difficult to watch Ryoma peripherally. Blood is still pumping in Saizo’s ears. The shapes of the foliage around him, usually so identifiable with his background, seem indistinct. But Ryoma halts whenever Saizo falls back, and he must concentrate on keeping pace, or he’ll slow Ryoma down.

Lately Ryoma keeps doing things like this. When they met as children he barely seemed aware of their positions, but he’d long settled into it before this rash of inviting Saizo to royal events, gifting him talismans to take on missions, and offering to share food that’s already been tested for poison.

For all his grace Ryoma becomes clumsier the deeper they walk into the woods, his bulk not made for it even if he weren’t trying to walk side-by-side. Saizo stops when the roots become thick enough to cause a hazard. He turns to explain this, cutting himself off before his words can jumble like everything else.

Because Ryoma is close enough to breathe hotly against Saizo’s temple, close enough that Saizo can’t ignore the light dappling his cheekbones like scales. Ryoma’s lips part in silent question, and when Saizo draws his eye away it lands on the hand Ryoma rested on a trunk.

Saizo is no fool. He’s seen Ryoma’s appreciative gaze at the outfits Oboro picks out, for how little either of them care for fashion; he’s felt the tender way Ryoma presses those talismans into his palm, despite their rough warrior hands. _Why_ is another issue, but Hell, if he asked Ryoma to press him against that tree, he would.

Any solidity Saizo regained crumbles, and he moves away while attempting to bow in this space. “Forgive me, my lord. I know you’re trying to…to…”

Ryoma steps back quickly enough that his hair catches on a twig. “I never meant to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“It’s not that.” Because he wants—for the little he can afford it, for the little he’s earned it, he _wants_. “Whatever my heart says, as I am now, I shouldn’t.”

It’s weakness, surely. If his past displays of it didn’t lose him Ryoma, this will.

Without taking his gaze from Saizo (that look, that same damned _look_ ), Ryoma reaches to untangle his hair, and Saizo forces himself not to intervene. “I can be patient,” Ryoma says. Saizo cannot suppress his relief.

“Thank you.” He battles with his tongue to hold back _lord,_ but he cannot yet bring himself to say Ryoma’s name without it.

Quietly they return the way they came, Ryoma leading the way where the path narrows. Watching his back is the only thing that clears Saizo’s fog.

He doesn’t remember the fish until he returns to the stream and spots a crow picking at the bones.


End file.
